


before you're lost between the notes

by snowbrigade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbrigade/pseuds/snowbrigade
Summary: “Since you seem like a vanilla guy,” he tacked on, leaning over the counter, his shit-eating grin of white teeth practically encompassing his face, while his eyebrows raised suggestively. Punchable, absolutely punchable, but Eddie didn’t punch him, he just gawked with his mouth wide open like an idiot.--au where eddie's a college sophomore and richie works at a new coffee shop, and he's not sure if getting caffeine from this place is even worth it, and he absolutely hasn't blushed





	1. vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> sorry im bad at summaries and idk what i really even wanna do with this?? its such a basis bitch au but things came into my head and had to write it, ill blame some ghostly possession

Barely into the first week of his sophomore year classes, Eddie Kasprak needed a pick-me-up, caffeine to flood his bloodstream with jitters, to tug on his strings and puppet him through the rest of the day. He was still relearning how to breathe after having spent his summer at home; now, he was almost terrifyingly free (besides the daily calls back home that kept a tether on him, making him feel like an elastic band regularly snapping back into place). On top of that, he was dorming with a new roommate this year- Ben Hanscom was his name, just transferred in, architecture major- and while nothing about the guy immediately repulsed him, Eddie needed to acclimate to sharing his space. Tack on an early morning class that past-Eddie had thought was acceptable for whatever God forsaken reason (seriously, fuck you, past-Eddie), and he needed more than a Mountain Dew that had been sitting in a vending machine for an indeterminate amount of time.

His sneakers squeaked to a stop on the sidewalk in front of a small coffee shop that had popped up in town that summer while he’d been away. There’d been flyers advertising it on campus, perhaps causing his subconscious to steer him onto this particular street corner. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the name sign- CAFÉ MOZZAFIATO- bright and pristine, contrasting the older, weathered signs on the block, and not without a touch of pretentiousness.

Stepping in, several aromas washed over him: obviously, coffee, rich and earthy and cozy and warm, but there was an undercurrent of newness, of cleaner to make the place shine, fresh leather couches and booths. Everything was clear and unsullied and satisfying, no mildew buildup or caked dust, or anything gross like that. Just a brand new coffee shop.

Eddie didn’t actually know much about coffee. He hung back a couple feet from the register, head tilted back and eyes squinting as he attempted to decipher the language on the menu board. His mother, of course, kept him away from coffee. The caffeine was bad for his heart, his delicate heart that might beat so hard it’d just burst out of his chest, and was that the way he wanted to die, his aortas burst open, his pulse going a mile a minute until coming to a dead stop? He shook his head slightly, a little gesture for himself. A coffee wasn’t going to kill him. She’d also said how it’d stunt his growth and, well, look how he turned out anyway (not that he was that short, he told himself, some people were just stupidly tall and made him look bad.)

People like the kid standing behind the counter, who was probably around Eddie’s age, but tall and lanky. He had practically a literal mop of dark hair, curly and untamed, not quite long enough that it could be reasonably tied back, but enough for Eddie to wonder if people found curly hairs in their latte— _ew_. ...Actually, he looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. His erasable name tag offered no hint either, as, in barely legible letters, he’d scrawled his name as Buddy Holly, and sure he had the glasses, and maybe he was giving conspiracy theorists something to chew on.

“Were you gonna order sometime this year, or just admire the view?” The question shocked Eddie out of his ruminations on coffee terminology and the stranger’s familiarity. It should have been unquestionably poor customer service, a 1 star Yelp review:

**I came to this new coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up, but I was greeted by the cashier pressuring me to order quicker, with maybe a side of sexual harassment? The one star is because at least the place was clean.**

Yet, instead, it was nearly charming, despite how he sported those uncharming glasses, thick frames screaming nerd chic and lenses that were visibly, grossly, smudged and dirty even from his distance from the counter. Maybe it was the way the words fell from his mouth, languid and confident, paired with a perfectly crooked smirk. _Nearly_ charming, of course, because Eddie wouldn’t say he was charmed. 

“If you’re referring to the cafe, yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Eddie responded flatly, letting his eyes wander around before drifting back to the cashier. He’d been leaning with his arms over the counter lazily, but he slowly pulled himself up with a little chuckle, further revealing gangly freakness. After a moment, Eddie continued, drawing closer to the register, “...Actually, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I was wondering if you had any, uh, suggestions?” His eyes flicked between the employee and the board several times, his arms crossed over his chest in a sort of defensive position. It was stupid, he knew, but he felt lame looking for a recommendation, like when his mom ordered for him at restaurants- because _I know what’s healthiest for you_\- or picked out his clothes-_ wear this so you don’t get a chill_. It was like he was a child, unable to make his own decisions.

Except this was totally different. He didn’t speak coffee, so it only made sense to ask the employee who hopefully knew enough to earn his wage. “Buddy Holly” thought it over in dramatic fashion, rolling his lower lip between his teeth and looking to the ceiling as if expecting God and his angels to descend with a revelation. After a quiet moment, he snapped his head back forward. “How about I surprise you?”

That made Eddie’s stomach twist. There were so many variables. Was it really safe, putting himself at the mercy of this coffee disciple, unknowing if his whims were malevolent or benevolent? He seemed as if he could go either way, his face a mask that Eddie couldn’t quite read.

“...Okay,” he caved after a moment, under the looming pressure of the board that read things like _doppio_ and _cortado_ and _macchiato_, and he wasn’t taking Italian this semester for fuck’s sake. “But don’t you dare make it gross,” he warned.

“Or else?” The cashier’s eyes shone with amusement that only irritated Eddie. 

“I’ll throw it back at you,” he answered without hesitation, meeting him with a steady stare. 

Of course, the cashier only laughed at that, and proceeded to tap something into the register, the smirk never having left his face. “It’ll be delicious, I promise,” he said, even having the audacity to wink. He repeated the total, and it was about what Eddie had expected, so he figured he couldn’t have rung him up for anything too crazy. After he gave him the money and got his change back, he idly thought about asking for the receipt, which would have his order on it and ruin the surprise, but the buzz of anticipation was acting as its own form of caffeine.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name?” the cashier asked as an afterthought, raising a marker to a large-sized paper cup, as if he’d known that size was just what he needed.

“Eddie,” he answered, and the other boy stuck his tongue out thoughtfully as he scribbled it on the cup, like it was something that needed some real concentration. 

As he retreated to the coffee bar, he nudged the other employee, a red-haired girl who’d been hanging back and quietly scrolling through her phone until then so Eddie hadn’t realized she’d existed, away from the espresso machine. “Move, Bev, I’m gonna make this one.”

“Wow. You? Doing work? Is the drink for a cute girl?” she asked with a sly grin, glancing out over the counter and looking surprised when she saw only a college-aged boy making his way toward the end to wait.

Eddie wasn’t sure if he should have been unnerved at the implication the other boy only wanted to do work if there was a cute girl involved, because Eddie Kaspbrak was not a cute girl. So what were his intentions? Maybe he was really eager to like, spit in his drink, and he shuddered at the thought. Who knew what diseases he carried, he thought, regarding the barista like a feral animal, but maybe if the unkempt hair was a general indicator of his personal hygiene, he could have been diseased. He began a mental list of all the illnesses he could contract through swapping spit. As he was too caught up questioning if this caffeine pit stop was even worth it, he nearly missed him say:

“Latte for Eds.”

He snapped his eyes up. “Don’t call me Eds. I said my name was Eddie.”

“I know, Eds,” he said, keeping that same obnoxious smirk on his face while holding out a large, unlidded latte. The foam on the top layer of the drink had been poured in a way to create a white heart shape. He wasn’t going to say it, but he was a little impressed. “It’s not a bomb,” he said, as Eddie obviously regarded it as such, and pushed it a little closer, but not setting it down.

Their fingers brushed when he took the drink from the barista. The heart made it the latte seem innocent, which actually only made it seem more suspicious, and he had to take a breath of courage before bringing it to his lips.

It was hot, warming his mouth and hands. The silky smooth milk mellowed the acidity of the espresso, helped by the notes of soft vanilla. Eddie barely realized it, but he closed his eyes for a moment, just to experience the taste.

“Ya like it?” Eddie didn’t need to open his eyes to know that shit-eating grin was on the barista’s face; he could hear it.

But he did open his eyes. “Yeah, it’s, uh, good,” he answered, sounding surprised, because he was.

“I put my jizz in it, that’s why.”

Eddie nearly choked. He did spit up some over his lips and his hands shook, spilling droplets over the edge and onto his fingers. He raised the cup, looking prepared to deliver a hit at point-blank range, heart art be damned, when the barista threw his hands up in a sign of surrender. Laughter bubbled forth from his stupid mouth uncontrollably.

“C’mon, c’mon. I just made it with love,” there was a lyrical tilt to his voice. “...Which kinda does sound like I mean jizz, but I don’t. It’s just vanilla. Cross my heart and swear to die,” he said, making an exaggerated motion of such.

Eddie lowered the cup slowly.

“Since you seem like a vanilla guy,” he tacked on, leaning over the counter, his shit-eating grin of white teeth practically encompassing his face, while his eyebrows raised suggestively. Punchable, absolutely punchable, but Eddie didn’t punch him, he just gawked with his mouth wide open like an idiot.

“Oh. My. God. Is sexual harassment like, on the menu?” One hand held onto his cup while the other gestured up at the board, and for all he knew, maybe that is what one of those Italian words meant. “Did I pay extra for this? Because it’s not very good, and I want a refund.”

The red-haired girl, Bev he’d called her, and Bev was what was written on her name tag in clean, curling letters, practically snorted. “Alright, Trashmouth, knock it off before you end up fired and ruin that resume of yours a little more.”

“Um, my resume is squeaky clean. It sparkles. You could eat a meal off my resume, that’s how clean it is.”

“Shame that can’t be said for your mouth, too,” Eddie spoke up wryly, causing Bev to laugh again. 

Undeterred, “Buddy Holly” licked his lips a little. “You wanna help me clean it then?”

“UGH.” He threw up one of his hands in disgust, because he was still holding his latte with the other one and despite everything, it tasted good and he’d paid money for it. “You’re disgusting. You should be fired.” He snatched a lid and put it onto the cup with more force than necessary, and made a dramatic display of stomping back toward the register. He set the cup down only so he could fumble with his wallet, finding a crumpled dollar bill and waving it in the air with flourish before slam-dunking it in their tip jar.

“That is only for her.” He pointed a finger at Bev, his sharp movement making it seem accusatory even though he was literally giving her money. He took another sip of his drink. It didn’t taste like jizz, not that he’d tasted it before or thought about its taste before.

“You still think my latte tastes good.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, sounding unthankful. “It’s fine, I guess. Thanks, “Buddy.””

“Aww, I’m your buddy?” He held his hands over his chest like a teenage girl thinking about her celebrity crush.

“No, it’s your name tag,” Eddie said with a gesture, causing him to glance down at his chest and utter a small, ‘oh,’ with disappointment; whether that disappointment was fake or real, Eddie couldn’t tell. “Anyway, bye, I’m never coming back. Enjoy your negative reviews online. The store will never bounce back from bad publicity and it’ll close and you’ll lose your job and have to live on the streets and contract all sorts of diseases, so enjoy your life!” He gave a small, unfriendly wave while heading for the exit.

Before he was out the door, he could hear the two baristas talking. They probably thought he couldn’t hear. People always spoke about him, thinking he couldn’t hear, but he almost always did.

“Seriously, Richie, what was that? That was strong, even for you.”

“Did you not see his cute little blushing face? That’s what it was for. Totally worth it!”

Ugh, he had not blushed! He practically slammed the door behind him, before bringing his free hand over his face self-consciously.

Wait.

She’d called him Richie. It all clicked into place suddenly, while he stood frozen on the street corner. That had been Richie fucking Tozier. They’d gone to school together, until Richie’s family had moved partway through high school, at least. They hadn’t been friends, his mother never would have allowed him to be friends with someone like Richie Tozier, a loudmouth, a bad influence. They’d hardly knew each other, really. Eddie just remembered laughing at some of his jokes, and even his stupid voices, and sometimes they made eye contact and Richie seemed particularly pleased when Eddie laughed, but honestly, it was probably just his imagination. And he hadn’t thought of the other boy over the years, hadn’t even pieced together that was him back there, especially not when- and Richie had always been taller- but he’d really shot up since he last remembered.

He took another sip of his latte, and shifted his grip as he moved to get going, back toward campus. Moving his fingers, he saw where Richie had written his name, except it wasn’t his name, it was Eds, with a little heart drawn next to it.

He definitely, _definitely_, **_definitely_** was not blushing now, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow thank you to anyone that read that!! i like reading aus but i feel weird writing them? like weird getting so far removed from canon idk... i have ideas for more from this but we'll see if i continue huh
> 
> \--
> 
> title is lyrics taken from 'jigsaw falling into place' by radiohead


	2. worst parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie promptly returns to the coffee shop he said he'd never return to, and it's all ben's fault (but not really). richie continues to be a paragon of self-restraint (except for when he isn't, which is all the time)

The door was barely open before Eddie’s mouth was running, “Whatever you do, do not go to that new cafe. The one on flyers all around campus. With the pretentious Italian name I can’t be fucked to remember.” He shut the door a little too loudly, and dropped his backpack onto his small dorm bed a little too roughly. “Service is awful. Like ‘I feel like I need to take a hot shower and exfoliate the top layer of my skin off’ awful.”

Ben, who had been crouched at his desk in front of his laptop, its screen casting his face in a ghostly glow, glanced up. Eddie had noticed he had a particular way of carrying himself, of keeping his limbs in close to seem small, and moving as if he didn’t fit, as if life was an optical illusion making places seem smaller than in reality. He wore predominantly baggy, ill-fitting clothes, even though he ran daily, and from the glimpses Eddie caught (not that he was ever looking!), Ben had a physique to be envious of. 

“What happened?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested in the story, and not just asking out of some feeling of obligation.

Eddie groaned at the memory, needing no more prompting to complain. “It was disgusting, Ben!” He sat down on his bed hard, making the mattress complain, and took a sip of his latte before continuing. “The fucking worker- Richie Tozier, watch out for him- was saying things like how he jizzed in my coffee. Who says that?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Did he…?”

“What! No! I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t be drinking it if he had, obviously.” Eddie scowled before setting the cup down on his bedside table. He noted he forgot to put away his various pill bottles that morning, a museum display of prescriptions and vitamins, free for a potentially bored, nosy roommate to peruse. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of Ben sending texts to his friends about how his roommate had more pills than his grandma. Not that he thought Ben seemed the type to say that, but it was the sort of thing people said. He opened up the table drawer and stuffed the bottles away, pills audibly cascading around, rattling off each other until going quiet.

“Are you going to call and complain?”

While pulling his laptop out of his bag, he considered it. His mom certainly would. She’d complain to the manager and insist her drink be refunded, and then demand a gift card too. That was the usual routine when they went out somewhere and something displeased her, which was all too easy to accomplish, leaving Eddie standing there anxiously picking at his neatly cut nails while she berated workers that were definitely not paid enough to deal with her. “...No,” he said finally, lifting the hood of his laptop and pressing the power button. “I don’t think I actually want him to lose his job or whatever. Just, don’t go there.”

Ben nodded and returned to the paper he’d been working on, and Eddie meant to start on his own schoolwork, but he found himself typing facebook into a new internet tab instead. He rarely used facebook, didn’t have a lot of friends on it (or in real life), and of the ones he did have, most were relatives. Nearly all his notifications were from his mother, of her writing him messages saying how she missed him so much since he’d gone away to college, and tagging him in embarrassing photos of him as a kid, all skinny legs and fanny pack and _ugh_.

He clicked the search bar, his fingers hesitating as they hovered over the keyboard until he finally, tentatively, like cutting a wire to a live bomb, hit the ‘r.’ And then ‘i,’ followed by ‘c’ and ‘h’- a pause, thinking it over, no he probably wouldn’t go by Richard here- and an ‘i’ and ‘e.’ Sucking in a breath, he typed out ‘Tozier’ much faster, to rip the bandaid off, and there he was, his profile pic fifty percent wild hair and fifty percent brightly-patterned Hawaiian shirt.

It seemed like he had a lot of facebook friends, but he wasn’t really active on the account, posts few and far between, most memes. Eddie clicked on his photos, scrolling through selfies, photos taken by and with friends, some being familiar faces from Derry. There was no mention of a relationship or any couple-y photos. Not that he cared, of course. He just thought the things he’d said would’ve been even more inappropriate if he happened to have a special someone. That’s all.

Whatever. Thinking about Richie Tozier was a waste of brain activity, practically killed brain cells, in fact, so he closed the facebook tab in exchange for one related to an assignment that was due, and reached out for another sip of the latte that had no right being as tasty as it was.

\--

“Seriously, I’m still not getting what earlier was about,” Beverly nudged him as they were walking home. Or, well, Richie was walking her home, their usual routine when their shifts ended around the same time. Not that Bev, the toughest girl he knew, who could fight him and win, needed his protection. It still made him feel better, especially as the sun began its retreat to beneath the horizon.

Richie cocked his head to the side. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Bev.”

“That thing with, what’d you call him? Eds?”

“_Do not call me that! My name is Eddie!_” he mimicked Eddie with a whiny falsetto, and Bev laughed, not because it was accurate, but because he sounded ridiculous.

“Yeah, that. Your mouth was pretty trashy, even for a trashmouth.”

Richie shrugged. “It was fine. I knew him.”

Bev fished around in her purse for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, offering one to her walking companion. The cigarette made an easy transition from her petite fingers to between Richie’s long, thin ones with sharp knuckles. Lit, the transition to his mouth was even smoother, and he took a deep inhale. “It didn’t seem like he knew you,” she pointed out, looking at him through the haze of smoke between them.

“I know. It’s a real shame, he must’ve forgot me. ‘M not making it up, though. We grew up in the same, shitty town- I told you about it, right? Derry, a.k.a. hell on earth, except it actually makes hell seem like a downright dream vacay? We weren’t friends though, not really, and it’s been a few years, so I guess he forgot about li’l ol’ Richie Tozier.” He pretended to choke on a sob.

Bev pursed her lips and let out a small puff of smoke. “That’s a tear-jerker.” She couldn’t place a finger on it, but something still seemed off, like the pieces didn’t quite align. She didn’t think Richie was lying, and he was good at hiding emotions, and feigning emotions, to the point she thought he even deluded himself. They parted with a hug goodnight, and while she hadn’t called him out it, she felt he’d left something out.

Richie had left something out. 

He’d felt a giant wasp sting him in the heart when Eddie Kaspbrak hadn’t recognized him, which was stupid, he was stupid, because they hadn’t been friends. They’d exchanged words on the playground, and looks at each other in class, like when he’d called Mrs. Coleman by Mrs. Moleman; laughter erupted in the classroom, and he’d been able to tell Eddie’s apart from the rest, and they’d both turned in the other’s directions, and Eddie’s face looked best when he was smiling, with the faintest bit of pink on his sparsely freckled face. Another day he’d ask Eddie to hang out, but he’d say his mom was expecting him home. One time they were talking outside the front of the school after being dismissed for the day- maybe Richie was cracking jokes or asking about copying homework, because he knew the material but it was so god damn dull- and Eddie’s mom pulled up to collect him, and Richie swore the woman glared daggers at him.

He thought, if she noticed him talking to Eddie too much, and ever saw him biking down the road, she would slam the gas and hit him, make him crash, shift all his bones around and smash his bike so he’d lay as a crumpled pile of meat and metal. That was just the impression he got from her. 

Not that he’d let that deter him. He still tried to talk to Eddie and invite him to the arcade, even though his response was that his mom would never let him go, they never cleaned the buttons of the machines, did he know how much bacteria could collect on a joystick? And Richie would make a joke about touching his joystick, and Eddie would make a face and call him gross.

Of course he teased Eddie too, though he’d never say it was bullying, not when there were actual, awful bullies in Derry. He teased him about his nerdy inhaler- pretty sure Eddie didn’t even have asthma in the first place- and his stupid fanny pack and his overbearing mother. Partly it was because teasing him was just so easy, low hanging fruit and all that… but also, like his face when he smiled, he was so cute when he was angry and flustered and spitting a comeback at Richie. Fire in Eddie’s voice made his heart skip a beat.

When he saw him earlier, in the cafe, after all these years, it had only been natural to tease him and drag those reactions out of him, but maybe he had come on too strong. He’d driven Eddie away, and he was never going to return to the cafe again.

\--

He’d evidently made the wrong choice in telling Ben about his experience at the coffee shop, because the next day he told him how he wanted to go and see it for himself. Ben, though, was new to the area. Eddie couldn’t just let him wander alone. He imagined his roommate getting lost, ending up in the seedy side of town where anything could happen to him, and Eddie didn’t need that weighing on his conscience.

So, obviously, for that reason and that reason only, he ended up at that pretentious coffee shop with the bad service for the second day in a row. He knew Richie was working today from the second he walked in, as he heard him loudly call out someone’s order in a fake accent. 

“Is that the one?” Ben asked, and Eddie’s grimace said it all. 

“Eds! You came back!” Richie greeted them as they approached the register, grinning widely, arms outstretched. “And you brought a friend! Lucky for you, there’s enough of me to go around,” he said with a wink. Ben gave Eddie an understanding look.

“Richie, you’re a l-l-l-lawsuit waiting to ha-happen,” his co-worker spoke up with a frown, popping up behind him. His nametag read Bill, and Eddie recognized the gentle face- and exasperated glance at Richie.

“Bill!” Eddie said excitedly, suddenly leaning over the counter. “It’s been, fuck, how long now? Why couldn’t you have been working yesterday instead of Richie?”

Bill seemed ready to answer, but before he could wrap his mouth around the words, Richie butt in, because the world revolved around him. He lived on a stage, redirecting attention to himself and his endlessly running mouth. “Oh, so you remember Stuttering Bill, but not me? The most unforgettable person from that shitstain they call a town?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, a heavily exaggerated gesture that almost made him look possessed. “Unforgettable isn’t always a good thing, asshole. And I realized it was you, the most _annoying_ person from that shitstain town, after I left and had decided I wasn’t stepping a foot in here again.”

Richie crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “And yet you came crawling back to me.”

Ben, who’d been quiet (and probably at least a little uncomfortable) standing there, finally spoke up, “Because of me. Eddie was raving about how awful the place was, and I admittedly got curious, and he said he didn’t want me to get lost looking for it.”

“Shit, Eds, you’re a bona fide good Samaritan.”

“Don’t fucking call me Eds.”

“W-W-Would you let them order b-before a line forms?”

Richie clucked his tongue at Bill. “Yes, master. I’ll be a good customer service slave and take their orders now.” He faced Eddie and Ben, putting on the most saccharine customer service smile and voice, fluttering his eyelashes behind those greasy, crooked glasses that Eddie wanted to drown in a bucket of cleaner. “What can I get for you _luh-vuh-ley_ boys?” he drawled out in something Southern. 

“I want what you made me last time, except I want Bill to make it. I trust him.”

“I’m making it,” Richie said while ringing him up. “I’ll complain,” Eddie insisted, and Richie countered, self-assuredly, “No, you won’t,” and the payment processed and Ben Hanscom could finally, finally order his medium americano with room. 

Two tips jars flanked the register, each labelled with a sticky note: one read ‘Richie’ in a scribble of lines and curves masquerading as letters, and the other proclaimed ‘Bill’ in clear, legible writing. Eddie realized Richie had his actual name written on his nametag today, probably just for this. He waved a dollar around until he knew it caught his attention, before dropping it in the Bill tip jar (both were about even, though he couldn’t fathom why, and Ben followed suit with a dollar of his own). Richie mimicked a dagger being thrust into his heart, while closing his eyes and rolling his head to the side in a silent moan of imaginary pain. Eddie chuckled, very quietly and very briefly, but it was definitely at Richie and not with him. 

The name on his cup was King Edward II, and their fingers brushed slightly when Richie handed it out, a faint touch of skin which he shouldn’t have registered, but he did. “Enjoy,” Richie winked, and Eddie made a gagging noise and pulled away as if Richie’s skin had been coated in acid. Ben added a small amount of cream to his americano, no sugar, just to cut the bitterness. They sat down together at a table.

“So,” Ben gestured at the workers who were tending to a line that had come out of nowhere, as every shopper in the neighborhood was drawn there at once by an unknown magnetic force. “You know them?”

Eddie took a sip of his vanilla latte. It was as good as the last one, maybe better, and he could feel the heat wash down to his core. “We went to school together. I don’t know that we were friends, but Bill was nice, and Richie was… Richie.”

“Hm.” Ben sipped on his americano. “What are the odds you’d run into them again here and now?” he mused out loud.

“I don’t know. I’m not a math major, Ben.” It was an uncanny coincidence, but crazier things happened in the world- his mother constantly reminded him of it, of freak accidents and rare diseases, things you only had a fraction of a fraction of a fraction’s chance of contracting, and yet it happened to someone, so it could happen to her poor, sweet, fragile Eddie. This disease has only been recorded as existing in a hundred people? Holy shit, he could be number one hundred and one!

Sitting here, far away from home, in a comfortable corner of a coffee shop buzzing with people going about their day, sounds of beans grinding harmonizing with low jazz floating from the ceiling, Eddie knew that sounded ridiculous… especially when there were plenty of common illnesses and germs lurking in every crevice. 

Ben’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, asking, “Who’s she? Is she one of your childhood friends too?”

He looked back to the employees, seeing the girl from yesterday, Bev, coming onto her shift and high-fiving Bill, tagging him out. As he began to untie his apron, she placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him very seriously, “Please don’t leave me here alone with Richie.”

Eddie turned back to Ben, shaking his head. “Nope, never saw her in my life before yesterday.” Ben was still staring, so he added on, “What? Is she one of yours?”

Seemingly aware of his stare, his eyes snapped back down to the lid of his drink. “No. Just curious.” He finished the rest of his americano before they left, despite Eddie’s insistence that he should slow down and let it cool more, and well, fine, if he was going to go ahead and gulp that hot drink down, he better not come crying to him when he gets esophageal cancer. Eddie was pretty sure it was only so he could go up and order another one from Bev, and drop another tip in the Bill jar which was now the Bev jar. Like any girl was worth cancer.

They were halfway to the door when Richie’s voice pierced the air, “Leaving already, Eds?” He’d moved from behind the counter to the floor, broom in hand, doing an unconvincing job dragging the bristles over a clean square of tile. 

“Yep, Ben said he’d seen all he needed to and agreed this place needs to be shut down.”

“I did not--”

“It’s okay, Ben, you don’t need to spare his feelings. Richie doesn’t have any.”

Richie frowned comically. “Aw, that’s not true. I have plenty. Actually, that ties into what I wanted to ask you about before you left. See, I think I’m ready to settle down, and I know Sonia’s been lonely every since Frank… you know… so I wanted you to ask your mom how she’d feel about a May-December wedding?” The comical frown shifted to a comical grin, his eyes shining the way they always did when he was amused with himself.

“Ugh, fuck you.”

His voice dropped an octave, a low gravelly tone that might’ve sounded sexy coming from someone that wasn’t Richie Tozier. “Y’know, you could call me _daddy_\--”

“Zero stars! You’ll be out of business in a week, enjoy unemployment, asshole!” Eddie rambled off a rant without thinking of the words, trying to talk over the flush of his face, and over Richie’s stupid ugly laugh, while nearly tripping over himself on the way out the door. Behind the counter, Bev was shaking her head. 

Ben followed him out at a cautious pace, though Eddie heard him give a slight laugh once they were outside. “Don’t laugh at Richie’s jokes. He’s like, the unfunniest man alive. He’s so unfunny it’s almost funny. Almost.”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Ben offered up weakly. “So, like, he doesn’t really want to marry your mom, right? I just mean, I don’t know him like you know him.”

Eddie grimaced. “Don’t say I know him. That makes it sound like he’s my best friend or something, but he’s just Richie. And no, I don’t think so, but just the thought makes me feel so dirty I’m gonna go bathe in bleach.”

\--

“Adorable, right?” Richie asked, poking an elbow into Bev’s ribs until she swatted him away. “Tell me little Eds isn’t the most adorable thing you’ve ever done seen.”

She shook her head while wiping down the counter because someone needed to do work. “I’m going to walk out if you’re just going to talk about your crush all day.”

His expression changed in an instant, eyebrows furrowing and mouth opening slightly. “...What? No. It’s not like that, it’s just funny. You should try it. Maybe he’ll pop a blood vessel next time.” Sometimes he thought Eddie brought out the worst in him. Not that he was ever the posterboy of self-control, but something about being in the same room as Eddie Kaspbrak, despite not seeing him for years- or maybe because of it- sent him wild with the desire to get under his skin, like it was a nice place to curl up in and live.

But that didn’t make it a crush. While they worked, he’d occasionally scoff and repeat in her voice, “_my crush_,” because that notion was funnier than anything he’d said, “You’re the real comedian here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's read this far, or left a nice comment or kudos on the first chapter! its flattering to know i can throw my writing into the void that is the internet and people will choose to read it??


End file.
